


Pain/Ache/Loving

by sundayrice



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Background Prompto Argentum & Cor Leonis, Background Prompto Argentum & Nyx Ulric, Gen, No Beta, Post-Canon, background references to gladnis cause im biased, it's a dadfic y'all, more like accidental child acquisition, prompto tries his very best to be a cool dad, very nonlinear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2018-12-19 21:09:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11906265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sundayrice/pseuds/sundayrice
Summary: raising a child in the wake of the death of his beloved is something he never prepared for. but he's determined to do it.protect what you have now. so you don't have to feel lose like that ever again.





	1. effort

**Author's Note:**

> a disjointed and nonlinear story based on a reincarnation au. originally made for noctis's birthday but i'm posting it late. sorry. 
> 
> the title comes from an album that i was listening to while writing. i thought it was appropriate since these are three distinct things i feel while playing ffxv.

**799 days**

* * *

 

It doesn't take Prompto two years to figure out that he has no idea how to take care of a child but it does take two years for the fact to sink in that he has no idea how to take care of a child.

Prompto's woefully unprepared and his budget was never meant to accommodate for a _child_ in the first place. A low-rent apartment in an unstable (yet hopeful) Insomnia might not be the best place for a child to grow up. The Hammerhead-esque garage he spends most of his late nights working in isn't much better. Everything's pretty drab, as much as Prompto doesn't want it to be that way.

Their meals will never be anything extravagant. Again, he accredits that to his poor money situation. Despite this, Prompto tries his best to make sure Noct is eating right; he's no Ignis, but he has at least some level of competence in the kitchen. Their evenings spent in a quiet dining room never spark much conversation, as much as Prompto doesn't want it to be that way.  _There should be more of us,_ Prompto thinks.  _Gladio and Ignis. And Noctis._ Prompto could never call this thing he has 'family' without them.

Noct is lonely and withdrawn and probably hates Prompto more than anything in the world. Or at least, that's how Prompto figures it must be. Noct could've had anyone else and now he's stuck with a heartbroken man who can barely even take care of himself. Noct could've at least had friends or fun or money in this broken-down world they live in. Noct could've had _something_ and instead, he's stuck with Prompto who has nothing at all.

So far, Prompto's doing a pretty shitty job at giving Noct the childhood he deserves.  _It's at least an effort,_ Prompto thinks.  _But a pretty shitty one, I guess._

Two years in and Prompto seriously believes he should've left Noct in Gladio and Ignis's care. Between the two of them, they're far more well off than Prompto is. Most of all, they're _happier_ than Prompto is, and Noct would certainly be happier with them than he is with Prompto. Prompto's known these men for over ten years and still, he finds himself shocked that he manages to exist in the same space, the same _universe_ , as them. They carry golden blood in their veins while Prompto's made from the ground up of dirt and dust.

Unsurprisingly, Gladio and Ignis have offered their kindness many times before. Gladio and Ignis offer Prompto lots of things that Prompto refuses to accept. Soon enough, Prompto figures out that he probably has a penchant for doing things on his own. 

_You're a fucking idiot, Prompto, you know that?_ _You're a fucking idiot._

 

|||

 

Prompto makes up his own system; a clear distinction in his head between Noctis Lucis Caelum, the man he loved, and Noct Argentum, the boy he loves.

(Two different kinds of love that he feels. Both important in their own way.)

He starts to treat Noctis Lucis Caelum's name like it's sacred. He treats his whole life and existence like it's sacred. Prompto never calls Noct Argentum 'Noctis', only 'Noct'. Sometimes not even 'Noct' and instead generic little nicknames he's made up, like 'buddy' or 'kiddo'. It get's to the point where Prompto's afraid Noct will forget he even has a name.

Prompto does it very deliberately. He's trying his hardest to distance Noct Argentum from Noctis Lucis Caelum; he doesn't want the kid to be dragged into the same world of hell that Noctis once was. Prompto promised himself he'd keep Noct away from danger, but every day, he slowly becomes less and less sure if he can keep that promise.

Maybe, some part of him knows he's not just doing it for Noct's sake, but for his own as well. For Prompto to even think of Noctis is pain, and, as unavoidable as that pain is, Prompto needs to find a way to get rid of it. Get rid of the ever-present sensation that's eating at his heart, clawing at his rib cage and burying its way into the deepest corners of his skull. He wants to get rid of _Noctis_ and yet he knows he'll never be able to do that.

Today's another day Prompto will spend working away in the garage. Today's another day Noct won't have anything to do except watch Prompto go about his business. Wherever Prompto goes, Noct has to follow. When Prompto goes to the garage, so does Noct. Noct doesn't seem to mind much though, so that's one worry off Prompto's back.

Prompto's since moved most of the heavy machinery to the far corners and highest shelves of the garage, but he's smart enough to know that it won't be enough to stop Noct. The garage smells of cigarette smoke, heavy rust, and oil. But again, Noct doesn't seem to mind that much and, at this point, Prompto thinks he really should.

While Prompto cleans and fixes up an old automobile, Noct pokes about in the garage, getting his hands on anything that catches his eye. He's a curious kid, just as any kid is.

And, just as any kid, he doesn't understand that the world is out to kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not sure quite what to rate this as. i guess i will say that you can expect lots of swearing and vulgarity, more than i usually would in a fic. that's mostly because of my interpretation of prompto, specifically older!prompto, who i always imagine swears a lot and is way blunter than his younger self. idk maybe it's just ooc but whatever, that's my interpretation.


	2. barcode

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think most of these chapters will be around 500 words or less. i don't mean for this fic to be very long anyways.

**1 587 days**

* * *

 

Noct likes to ask a lot of questions, and some of these questions Prompto doesn't have an answer for. At least, not a straightforward answer for that he'd be able to understand.

He asks a lot about Prompto's past. There's a silver-lining of sorts, Prompto's learned to play his cards right; he tells him just enough to keep Noct satisfied but never enough to leave himself regretful. Much of it is the usual kind of questions that Prompto comes to expect. He asks about Lucian history – something Prompto is fairly terrible at – and about myths and legends. He asks about Gladio and Ignis, who they are and why Prompto seems to be so fascinated by them.

Sometimes, he asks about Noctis too.

And that's when Prompto grows quiet. In response, Noct grows quiet too and it's an awful, painful silence that hangs heavy in the air until someone decides to kill it. At any mention of Noctis's name, it always happens. No doubt, Noct can't be in the presence of anyone without his name popping up. From Noct's perspective, it's all a mystery. _Why does everyone talk about him when I'm around, Noct thinks._ _Why is my father no longer alive, Noct thinks._

 _It doesn't have to be like this,_ Prompto knows.

 _8:27 am._ Noct's already waiting in the kitchen before Prompto's even started cooking breakfast. He's poured himself a glass of milk and he kicks his feet back and forth from under the dining room table.

"Morning, buddy," Prompto yawns.

Noct's face perks up and he lets out a modest smile. "Mornin, dad," he says, much more chipper than he should be for this time in the morning. At least,  _Noct_ knows how to wake, unlike  _someone else._

Prompto yawns once more. "Give me a sec and I'll get started on breakfast, kay?"

Just as Prompto's washing his hands in the kitchen sink, Noct starts staring at him. Maybe, he isn't staring at his right wrist and something else instead, though Prompto, being Prompto, assumes it can't be anything else. Noct's eyes aren't focused on his face, he can tell that much.

Even with Niflheim, with the Magitek Infantry, behind them, he's still got the scars to prove that they existed. If it wasn't for him, Lucis would've been rid of them already. Those black bars contrasting against his rosy skin. There's maybe a slight redness to it from the way Prompto scratches at his wrist. He's stopped wearing the wristband the moment the world had stolen Noctis away from them. Prompto still hates it, he hates every part of his father that was branded on him. So, he takes it and wears it as a reminder of something he never wants to become.  _That your pain and turn it into your pride. That way, they'll never be able to hurt you._

Noct hasn't asked any questions about it yet, so, maybe if Prompto's lucky, he never will. 

Prompto turns off the tap and makes quick work of drying his hands. "Something wrong, buddy?" Prompto says as he makes his way to the table and sits down next to Noct.

Noct gets flustered and jerks his head to the side, only for Prompto to laugh and ruffle his hair. But even then, Noct refuses to take his eyes off that wrist. Which means there has to be _something_ about it that he finds interesting.

"It's nothing," Noct says and starts to get up from his seat.

Just before Noct can slip away again, Prompto grabs him by the shoulder. "You know, if you want to ask me something, you can just ask."

Noct nods. The kid's got a tendency to do instead of say. So instead of saying, he gently brushes Prompto's arm and then points to his wrist. Prompto takes a deep breath. Honestly, no amount of preparation has prepared him for this moment. There's so much he needs to say. There's too much he needs to say, and he's fairly certain that Noct doesn't want to hear it all. But he needs to hear it all, so Prompto mentally apologizes to Noct for the morning's breakfast delay.  _This_ is far more important.

"It's a long story, but, uh, stick with me to the end, okay?"


	3. delivery

**1 127 days**

* * *

 

 

Someone knocks on the garage door. A peppy-looking blond in a yellow jumpsuit. She's covered in grease stains and her slightly disheveled hair is kept out of her face with a red bandana. Noct takes one quick look at her and cowers behind Prompto. 

"Mornin' sunshine," she says, ducking her head slightly and carrying a brazen smile on her face. Prompto doesn't lift his head from his work but gives her a wave. She cautiously approaches Noct and crouches down to match his height. "And hello there, little critter."

Noct blushes and hides even further behind Prompto.

Not surprisingly, Noct is a shy kid. Things like that tend to happen when you don't have my friends. Or any social interaction outside of your immediate family.

Prompto chalks it up to being his fault, along with just about everything else wrong in Noct's life. It's a sensation he can't help but feel, even if he knows it's irrational. He knows it's ridiculous. And yet he feels he has no one else to blame except himself because he knows he could be doing better. He knows he wants to do better.

"Looks like you scared him," Prompto teases and Cindy responds with a laugh. That laugh is just enough to distract from his ugly thoughts, for the time being.

"Well, the little bean has nothin' to worry 'bout," Cindy says. "I'm just here for a delivery."

She's got a cardboard box resting near her feet that Prompto didn't even notice before. It's relatively small, probably no bigger than a school bag. The box is taped together nicely from the top and Prompto can't see any blemishes or stains on the packaging. It's something that needs to be handled with great care.

"It's a special delivery from Lestallum. That Amicitia girl wanted me to give it to you."

It's something that needs to be handled with great care and it seems to be something that only Prompto can be trusted with. Prompto has a million things that he wants to say. He already knows what the package is. He already knows he doesn't want anything to do with it. He wants to tell Cindy to take it back to Iris. He wants to tell Cindy that he doesn't even want to look at it.

"Thanks, Cindy," is what he says instead.

That brazen smile of hers hasn't moved one bit. Not an inch. "No worries!" she's truly as peppy as ever and Prompto has to wonder if she hides something behind all her optimism. If that's the case, the two of them are more similar than Prompto could've ever known.

Prompto briefly lifts his head to see Cindy making her way back to her car. Prompto gives her another wave and Noct peers out to watch as she leaves. For a brief moment, the loud roar of a car engine is heard and it quickly dies down until Prompto and Noct are left alone again.

"Dad," Noct says as he's clinging onto the fabric of Prompto's jacket. For a second, Prompto's whole world is thrown for a loop. Noct's softened up to him these past years, but even then he mostly just gets 'Prompto'. 'Father' occasionally, if he's lucky. 'Dad' is a title beyond anything Prompto deserves; that's what he's been telling himself this whole time.

"That woman was scary."

Prompto laughs. "That's what you say about every adult."

"Because adults are scary," Noct says.

"Well, you're not wrong there, buddy," Prompto laughs again and ruffles Noct's hair with his grease-stained glove. "Adults _are_ scary."

Noct shuffles out completely from behind Prompto and he's still got that adorable flustered look on his face. His cheeks are rosy pink and puffy, his eyes cast slightly downwards and his eyebrows maybe the slightest bit furrowed.

"Except for you," Noct mumbles. "You're not scary."

Noct rushes out of sight quickly after saying that. Prompto only manages to catch a glimpse of his face, most definitely it's bright red. Truthfully, it's Prompto's saving grace that Noct left. Because now he's bright red too, just like him.


	4. father

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i like this fic a lot because i find it so easy to update, considering the chapters are really short.

  ** ** **1 430 days******

* * *

 

Noct falls into the rhythm of calling Prompto 'dad' and 'father'', instead of 'Prompto'. Prompto's not sure if he can handle it. Just the occasional drop of the word was hard enough, but now Prompto feels like he's fighting back tears every time Noct says it.

Not that Prompto really minds being called 'dad'– in fact, it makes him happier than anything else in the world – but more so that he doesn't feel he has the right to be called 'dad'. It's his own self-deprecation running around in his mind, constantly telling him that no matter what he does for Noct, he'll never be good enough. He'll never have enough, he'll never do enough, he'll never be enough. 

Prompto concludes that it'd be better for Noct not to call him 'dad'; Prompto's had nothing but bad luck with fathers anyway.

Quiet nights become awful once Prompto's caught in the trap of his own mind again. But this time around, his little 'buddy' is at least there to lift some of the burdens from off his shoulders. They've got one large couch that Prompto finds comfy enough to sleep on. The book Prompto was reading for him has been tossed aside, onto the floor and opened. He's usually a quiet sleeper and, sometimes, a very heavy one at that. The two of them are curled up in a blanket, with Noct's head resting just above Prompto's stomach and in the crook of his rib cage. It's a bit uncomfortable for Prompto and he feels like he's losing breath. But, if Noct's happy, he isn't going to disturb him; he'd much rather pass out.

Looking at Noct's calm face puts Prompto at least a bit at ease. Prompto loves Noct, he really does. With all his heart and soul, Noct is the one thing he needs to protect above all else in this horrible yet beautiful world. And Prompto enjoys being with Noct. He enjoys his flustered face and timid voice. He enjoys his bounds of curiosity, even if it runs his energy into the ground. He enjoys every second he spends with Noct.

He knows he's using Noct to make up for lost time and, in that sense, Prompto feels  _fucking_ awful. A horrid creature. A selfish creature. Projecting the death of his boyfriend on the life of his son. Prompto's still not sure if Noctis Lucis Caelum and Noct Argentum share the same soul. But regardless, Prompto knows it's unfair to compare Noct to his dead lover, because no matter how much he'd want it, Noct will never fill the hole the first left in his heart. His goal isn't to fill the hole in his heart; that will never happen. It's to sew the gap shut and pretend it was never there at all.

Noct and Noctis are far from one in the same. Prompto stops himself from treating them like they're one and the same because they're notand they never will be. One is dead and the other is alive. One deserves to still be alive and the other was probably never meant to exist at all. It's a disgusting thought and yet he still thinks it.

(Though, just because Prompto can stop himself from treating them as one in the same, he cannot stop the world. For the world is cruel and unjust and assuming. The world loves to play the game of blood. And as truly Noct carries the blood of his father, the world shall treat them as though they're one and the same. As in the eyes of the world, blood is the only thing that shall decide the future.)

Noct shifts around a bit and his hushed breathing fills in the silence. Prompto runs his fingers through the disheveled black hair, smiling as he catches Noct drooling a bit onto his shirt. He'll clean it up later. Prompto wants Noctis to be here and to see this. To see the sleeping face of his son that creates a mirror image of his own. To hold him and love him. To cherish him with everything he's got. He knows Noctis would. He'd love to be there, the three of them together.

But Noctis isn't here, so Prompto must do it alone. And for however many years he lives, he'll keep doing it. Just so long as Noct is loved and safe, he'll keep doing it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case you haven't noticed, this isn't a much of a story as it is a bunch of vignettes that all revolve around one common theme. i really like writing thematic narratives. i'm just not that great at it lmao.


	5. birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> consistent update schedules are for cool people, so unfortunately not myself.
> 
> also i literally updated this from my phone lmao, so let me know if there's lots of mistakes.

**1 826 days**

* * *

 

A drive to Lestallum is a good way to keep a kid restless, it turns out. Noct's partial to sleeping on road trips but this time, his eyes are wide open and he graciously takes in the fresh air as they drive down the freeway. A visit outside of Insomnia does him good and if Prompto's already failed Noct too many times, he can't do it anymore. Noct isn't counting but Prompto is. Prompto keeps track of every tally mark, every mistake, as though it's been carved into his skin.

Meanwhile, Noct's utterly captivated by the road-side sights, though Prompto, from his end, holds a deeply rooted bitterness because it'll never be the same as it was before. Five years and things are definitely looking better, Prompto can say that much. For that, he's telling the Astrals he's grateful.

"Keep your seatbelt on back there, buddy," Prompto says.

"Sorry Dad, but it's," Noct starts as he sits back down in his seat. "It's really pretty."

_Can't disagree with that_ , Prompto thinks. Even though it isn't the same as before, it  _is_ really pretty. For that, he's also telling the Astrals he's grateful.

"How come they live so far away?" Noct says. "You should let them stay with us!"

"If only," Prompto says. He's mused about the suggestion before, no doubt.

It's been a while since Noct's properly seen his 'Uncle Iggy and Gladio'. (Noct's never referred to either Ignis or Gladio by their full names before, so Prompto is convinced Noct just doesn't know them.) He loves them both, though Noct is more relaxed around Ignis. Gladio, on the other hand, enjoys teasing. Noct's called Gladio a myriad of childish nicknames and sometimes he's rushed over to Ignis's side, a single hand gripped around the fabric of Ignis's coat and lamenting about how Gladio is a "big bully".

Not unlike Noctis, Prompto muses once more, though quickly rids himself of the thought.

"Keep your eyes on the road, Dad!"

"Only if you promise to keep yourself in the car."

 

|||

  

Prompto's a nervous wreck while he waits for one of them to open to door. He knows what he feels. He's had this feeling many times before and, just as before, it sits comfortably inside of Prompto's stomach. He feels light and yet at the same time like a crushing weight's been wedged into his gut. He knows what he feels.

He's longing, holding onto a peaceful feeling of the three of them together. _This is my family_ , Prompto thinks.

Prompto needs Gladio and Ignis more than anything in the world. Bound together by something thicker than the filthy blood running through his veins. They're always there for him. It's more than Prompto feels he ever deserves.

A couple seconds pass and no one answers the door, so, Prompto rings again. He'd be convinced by now that no one's home – Gladio's considerably quick to answer a door as Prompto remembers – if it hadn't been for the exasperated swearing he faintly hears from inside the building, alongside the worried voices of a few others.

The voices die down and a few more seconds pass before the door slowly creeps open.

Prompto swallows his spit and tries to swallow his worries along with that. He's considerably more scared than Noct is. Noct has no idea what's even going on.

It isn't Gladio at the door, not at all. There's another familiar figure standing there instead.

Aranea Highwind. She's in some run-down hunting gear and has a few bits of armor on. She smells fresh of blood. Briefly, Prompto notices her fingers twist, missing the comfort of her prized lance.

Noct shifts uncomfortably behind Prompto and he hears him let out a little squeak. Aranea's staring him dead on, not maliciously, though without any clear indication of joy. Noct doesn't look her in the eyes.

(Prompto, as a small child, would be distraught too, if he's going to be honest with himself.)

Prompto hasn't seen Aranea in years and part of himself was worried she had died by the darkness of the daemons. The sensible part of himself told him that was a stupid worry; Aranea Highwind would never fall to the daemons. Seeing her right in front of him, she looks distant, colder. She's always had a glint of callousness in her eyes but Prompto sees it clearer now than he ever did before. Perhaps, he shares the same look as her. Colder. Older. Dead.

He tries his hardest not to be sentimental. "Sleep deprivation's a good look on you, Aranea," Prompto teases – perhaps choking back a tear or two – and elicits a laugh from her, so at least now he knows she's in relatively good spirits. Her gaze is still focused on Noct though, hiding behind Prompto and clutching onto the back of his jacket like his life depends on it.

As Aranea kneels down, the remnants of her armor she hasn't yet taken off rattle. She wears them like a second skin.

"And you're the birthday boy, I assume."

Noct hums in response.

"Happy birthday," Aranea says.

"Thank you," Noct says and his face lights up with bright pink.

Aranea turns back to face Prompto. "So what, are you two coming inside or are we having the birthday party out here?"

With that, Prompto smiles. This is family. They're family now, nothing can take that away from him. They're all family together and Prompto doesn't want it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> check out my [twitter](http://twitter.com/sukukajas) if you'd like.


End file.
